


you are the light in my eyes

by sherlck (scienceofdeducjohn)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, eventually, peach verse, peach verse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scienceofdeducjohn/pseuds/sherlck
Summary: Former lieutenant James McGraw rents out a room on his peach farm to one Lord Thomas Hamilton, and finds himself strangely drawn to him.A charismatic stranger, he seemed to radiate knowledge like sunlight and James imagined himself to be a moth lured in by him against all instincts. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t reason away the feeling that Thomas Hamilton was the most important thing to happen to him in a long while.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I have written the story but still have to edit most of it, which is why I've only uploaded the first chapter. The rest will follow soon.
> 
> The title is from the song 10 AM, Gare Du Nord by Keaton Henson.

James took another sip from his cup of tea as he let the letter fall from his hands onto the table. A certain Lord Alfred Hamilton had requested that he rent him a room for a period of time that had yet to be determined. Normally James would not even consider such a strange deal, but God knew he needed the money, and it was clear that the Lord was prepared to pay generously. After his early retirement from the Navy he’d given in to a dream deep within him that had begun bubbling up ever since he’d completed his first few years of missions in the New World. He’d discovered the cruelties of the world first hand, seen the way man acted as if they owned the world and therefore could do with it and the people in it what they wanted. He’d been well and truly disgusted by it and himself having been a part of that relentless machine that was mankind, and he’d wanted nothing more than to build himself a place as far away from that as possible. And that desire had resulted in James McGraw, former lieutenant, buying a remote peach farm in the country side a few hours outside London.

He sighed. When he bought the place he knew there was a lot of work to be done: there were windows to repair and walls to repaint, entire rooms to be refurnished and the grass and weeds needed to be cut desperately. He didn’t mind any of this: he liked to keep himself busy when he was not reading or eating or sleeping, as he was afraid of where his mind would take him if he stayed still for too long moments at a time. However, not long after the acquisition he learned the peach business wasn’t as bounteous as he’d hoped for, which meant he was slowly but surely running out of money.

Heaven knew why a Lord would choose his ruin of a farm of all places to rent a room, but Lord Hamilton had responded enthusiastically on James’ reluctant but affirmative reply. The man would arrive any moment now, and James was not exactly excited. He liked to think of himself as a private man who didn’t want any intruders in the quiet life he’d carefully and painstakingly built here for himself. He liked to visit Jack’s pub and meet up with him, John, Max and Anne once in a while, but that was more than enough social interaction for him.

A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts, and he grudgingly got up to open it. Once more reminding himself of the sum of money he was promised, he plastered a polite smile on his face and opened the door.

James was surprised to see not one but two men waiting for him. The older, who was stood in front of the other taller man, introduced himself before waiting for James to speak.

“Lord Alfred Hamilton,” he said, as he shook James’ hand with force before gesturing to the man behind him. At the action, his face contorted in something that could be interpreted as shame or disgust or perhaps a combination of the two. It didn’t do much to appease James. “And my son, Lord Thomas Hamilton.” But before James could reach out for his hand, Lord Alfred Hamilton strode forward quickly; James nearly had to jump out of the doorway to let him through. Hastily giving Thomas an awkward nod, he spun around and lead the way to the kitchen table. The first impression of the Lord did nothing to lessen his natural dislike toward the nobility of London.

“Please sit.” James saw the Lord grimacing in distaste as he glanced around before taking a seat, but James refused to apologize for the messy state of the kitchen. “Would you like-" He started, but was cut off by the older Lord Hamilton.

“Forgive me, sir, but would you mind if we handled this business as quickly as possible? I have no time for pleasantries. I must to be back in London by lunchtime.”

James sat down, taken aback by the rude manner of this supposed Lord. Something wasn’t quite right here, he thought, his eyes flitting between him and the man who was supposedly his son. He hadn’t been allowed so much as a word.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

“Well then, I will explain the details of our agreement. My son,” At that, he nodded to Thomas Hamilton, eyebrows creased and lips still pulled back in an ugly grimace. “Thomas, requires rest for the benefit of his health. He will stay here for as long as I want and I will pay you accordingly. Is that agreeable to you?”

But it wasn’t phrased as a question: it sounded more like a command, and James had to swallow down his irritation at the arrogance before he could answer. “It is, my Lord.”

Alfred Hamilton looked pleased with himself and was already getting up. He held out a brown envelope.

“This should cover the first six months. I will make sure you will receive additional pay as we prolong our agreement.”

“Thank you.” James took it and followed him back to the front door, where wat he assumed were Thomas’ suitcases still stood on the porch.

Lord Hamilton hurried his way back to the carriage that stood waiting for him without so much as a goodbye, anxiously looking around almost as if to make sure no one would see him. As James wondered what the hell just happened, a voice broke the silence from behind him.

“I’m really sorry for that.”

James turned around to find Lord Alfred Hamilton’s son looking at him, shifting from foot to foot uneasily. And for the first time, he really saw him: Thomas was a tall man, taller than himself, with short hair that was a colour between blonde and silver, bright blue eyes beneath it. He stood upright, visibly relieved that his father had left but still quite uncomfortable with the entire situation. Still, he did not avoid James’ gaze, but met it without blinking.

“That’s quite alright, my Lord.”

Thomas nodded at that, and his shoulders sagged a bit in relief. He stepped forward. “I’ll get my stuff, if you could show me my room?”

James agreed, his mind spinning with questions he decided maybe now was not the time for.

 

James had left Thomas alone in his room and had gone down to prepare lunch. He had no idea what customs were under these circumstances, but he decided he should probably offer the Lord something to eat. Except, no reply came as he knocked on the door to the guest room, so he waited several moments before opening it anyway. The bed he had made before the arrival of his guest lay strewn with clothes out of a half unpacked suitcase, and his other bag lay opened to reveal heaps of books. No Thomas was in sight, though. James, confused, decided to check the rest of the rooms and eventually found him in the small study that he occasionally used to write letters, but which mostly functioned as a tiny library. Sunlight streaming in from the tall windows made Thomas’ hair glow and his eyes shine, and James was so struck by the beauty of it, that for a moment he couldn’t do anything but stare. Thomas was standing near the window, engrossed in one of his novels, until he noticed James paused in the doorway. He jumped, putting down the book on the desk.

“I’m so sorry, sir, I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me.”

But James just smiled, and gestured at the book so suddenly abandoned. “You like Middleton, Sir?”

Thomas posture relaxed somewhat, and James wondered if he was the sort of person to talk through the night about novels and authors and stories. He found himself thinking that wouldn’t really mind that. “I like what he has to say about society.”

James chuckled. “Are you also of the opinion that there are no good people, that ultimately everyone is driven by selfishness in everything they do?”

“I think he reminds us that there are many people in this world that don’t care much about anything but themselves, and that whatever you do in it, you always must try to compensate for them.” Thomas said, slightly tilting his head in careful deliberation, “We have to reflect on their actions and condemn them, but at the same time must not dwell on them but strive to make it right.” And there was something on Thomas’ face James couldn’t quite decipher, and didn’t know if he wanted to. The tiniest contortion of lips suggested there was a story to be unlocked here.

So James just nodded. “I’d have to say I agree, my Lord.”

“Thomas, please.”

“Thomas,” James took a breath and a moment to revel in the sensation of calling him by his first name, “Lunch is downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

 

Lunch was overall a pleasant affair, if not a little unusual. James imagined, feeling a faint blush creeping onto his face, that Thomas was probably used to something more than what he had presented for lunch. He hated that he suddenly felt inadequate where he usually didn’t pay much attention to what strangers thought, and chose to ignore the voice in the back of his mind asking why. “I’m sorry for- well. I’m sure this is not exactly the quality that you’re used to.”

But when he looked up from the peach he was peeling, he saw that Thomas looked nothing less than excited, chewing on a mouthful of bread. He shook his head and swallowed.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, James- would you mind me calling you James?”

Now James shook his head. “Not at all.”

“I find it rather exciting to be away from all the make pretend of high class London, if I’m perfectly honest with you.”

James took a bite from his peach, wondering when it was the right time to ask why he was here, why his father had come to bring him, why he was staying so long.

“I’ve always wanted to retire to the countryside someday, you know. I just never could bring myself to leave my work, not even for a holiday. But alas, here I am now.”

“Do you mind me asking, my Lord-” Thomas’ eyes shot up from his toast to meet his; they were twinkling and a beautiful bright blue and James had to look away to correct himself, “Thomas- what made you leave it then, your work back in London?”

Thomas’ smile fell from his eyes quickly, though his lips still played the part, and James wanted to slap himself for being so intrusive. Surely he’d crossed a line. Damn his inquisitive nature. “Forgive me, Thomas, I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me.”

“It’s quite all right.”

The rest of lunch they spent avoiding each other’s eyes and eating in silence until Thomas finished his slice of bread. “If you don’t mind, I would just like to get some air.” He stood up.

“Of course.” James suppressed a grimace, gesturing to the door.

 

He hadn’t seen Thomas return from his walk, but when James went upstairs to check, the door was half opened and he could see Thomas sitting at the small desk against the window. He was writing, his back to the door. James decided not to disturb him any further, still feeling somewhat guilty for having brought up his reason for leaving London during lunch. He wandered back down the stairs and into his garden. The peaches on his trees were mostly ripe, and he still had to pick about half of them. It was well into summer; overhead were clear blue skies and a burning hot sun, but James was glad to have something to do to take his mind off Thomas. He retrieved a ladder from the shed and set to work.

He was working his second tree when he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead and looked around his small field. That’s when he nearly jumped. There was Thomas, at the bottom of the ladder, squinting his eyes up at him.

“Jesus,” He hissed under his breath, but his frustration quickly dissipated as Thomas started talking.

“You’re plucking the peaches already? I thought they weren’t supposed to come off until late summer.”

He sighed. “They were ripe early this year.”

Thomas nodded, seemingly at a loss for what to say. “Can I help you?”

So James climbed down the few steps, taking a peach from his basket. “Do you know how to see when they’re ripe for plucking?” At Thomas shaking his head, he gave him the fruit. Their fingers brushed past each other, and James had to suppress a shiver at the feeling of skin against warm skin. He found Thomas’ gaze again and continued, “It’s quite simple, really. When there’s no green left on its skin, and it comes off with nothing more than a slight twist of the wrist, that’s when you know the peach is fully ripe.”

Thomas examined the fruit, turning it over and scrutinizing it. “All right.” He smiled at James, tossing him back the peach.

They worked in silence for most of the time, Thomas working his way round the lower parts of the tree while James used his ladder. As time progressed, James found his treacherous mind wandering into dangerous territory, wondering about Thomas’ past and how it had led to him coming here, about what books he preferred and why. He wanted to talk about all of this and more, but found his mind empty as to how to approach the topics. One thing was certain: Thomas Hamilton was having a curious effect on him, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

He looked down at Thomas a few metres away from him, hair shining gold in the rich afternoon sun. His height had meant the strong arms and broad shoulders hadn’t stood out to him before. But now, Thomas having rid himself from his jacket and with his sleeves rolled up, James could appreciate how muscular he actually was. The man in question caught him staring, then, and smiled. He smiled back because he couldn’t help himself, starting to climb down the ladder. Repositioning it closer to Thomas, he took a deep breath and wiped off his forehead with his sleeve. “I truly am sorry about before.” He said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ladder.

“It’s fine, James.”

Turning his head, he saw him carefully twisting the peaches off the low-hanging branches.  Sweat was dripping along his face and trickled down his neck, made his skin glisten. James unintentionally licked his lips, and waited for him to continue. No words followed, however, so they went on to work in silence once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first multi chapter (flinthamilton) fic, so please let me know what you think! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @scienceofdeducjohn :)


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas having a late night conversation. That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a short one, but I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Several days passed, and they were all mostly spent in a companionable silence. They fell into a routine that James could easily get used to: they ate lunch and dinner together and Thomas occasionally came to help James in his garden, but mostly kept to himself. James suspected that he spent his private time reading or writing, as he’d one day caught him doing at the kitchen table. He hadn’t been able to make out what it was he was writing as he walked by, but the curiosity hadn’t faded with time. Still, Thomas didn’t bother him with personal questions, so he didn’t want to bother him either.

Three days after his visitor’s arrival James sat down on the porch overlooking his peach field after dinner, placing a bottle of scotch and a glass beside him. Every night he sat there, either reading or thinking. He hadn’t brought a book tonight, preferring to mull over the events of the week. He’d fully expected to hate any intruder coming into his home, and yet he couldn’t help but enjoy Thomas’ smiles and glances and what little conversation they’d shared. A charismatic stranger, he seemed to radiate knowledge like sunlight and James imagined himself to be a moth lured in by him against all his instincts. He had an unshakeable feeling that his life was about to be changed forever, though he couldn’t explain the reason. It had been a few days, dammit. Still, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t reason away the feeling that Thomas Hamilton was the most important thing to happen to him in a long while.

“Mind if I sit down here?”

James looked over his shoulder to see him gesturing next to where he sat, and shook his head. He offered him the glass, which Thomas declined with a wave of his hand. James took another sip while Thomas regarded the setting sun, its last light shining through the trees.

“I was sent here by my father.” Thomas prompted after the final red rays were beginning to leave the sky. James did nothing but turn his head, for fear of doing something that would cause Thomas to stop speaking. Blue eyes fixed on the horizon under hair that seemed almost dark brown in the lack of sunlight; loose white shirt hanging on to a tall hunched frame that diminished his muscles. Mouth pulled down in distaste for what he was about to tell in contrast with his artificially light tone.

“I was working on a project that my father had appointed me to. I was to devise a plan to bring the island of Nassau back under English rule. The Navy had sent for me a lieutenant to aid me in this. Together we worked night and day to accomplish our goal, and we made great progress. There was only one item on which I disagreed with both him and my father.” A rueful smile. “I believed above all in the good of people, you see. I believed we should give every man and woman a chance to prove themselves. I still do. However, that was also what had doomed our task from the very beginning.” Thomas took a deep breath, eyes now roaming the fields until they finally settled on James. James automatically sat up a little straighter, tightening his grip on the glass.

“I wanted to pardon the pirates who had taken over the island. I wanted for them to prove their worth by allowing them a chance at real work, as real citizens of England, in a land claimed by its rightful owner.”

To pardon pirates… It was something completely ludicrous, something that would never be considered a possibility by the English. And yet, putting the pieces together of this man sitting next to him right now under the setting sun, somehow he suspected that it was something completely Thomas Hamilton. He huffed a laugh.

“My father never liked me, never liked my work, my manners, my… anything.” A sigh. “So in hindsight I should have seen what was about to happen coming from miles away. But as Miranda says, my naivety is one of my biggest flaws. I ignored this feeling of impending doom until I couldn’t anymore. Until I proposed the plan to my father. Until-” But he promptly shut his mouth, looking away to the horizon again.

James waited for him to resume speaking, but he seemed suddenly lost in memories. “Until?” James prompted softly.

Thomas blinked. “Until he sent me away.” But his hushed voice seemed distant, and didn’t manage to convince James. There was something more, and it was apparently something worth keeping secret. He wondered with the tiniest pang of jealousy who this Miranda was, and why exactly Thomas was sent away. Then again, why should a Lord disclose his past to a perfect stranger like him? It was certainly not something he would ever do.

So James offered the only thing he could say, “I’m sorry.”

Finding his gaze again, Thomas replied solemnly, “Don’t be. You’ve nothing to apologize for. It’s all on me.”

“You tried to do something good and were punished by it,” James replied, “by the very men who try to uphold a façade of reason and virtue. This world is filled with arrogant egotistical fucking idiots-”

Thomas snorted a laugh, and in the same instant James decided he loved the laughter lines becoming prominent around his eyes, the way his eyes seemed to shine brighter.

“- who will run to suck the life out of you at every given opportunity.” James finished, shaking his head but grinning at Thomas’ laughter. “So I’m inclined to think it was entirely on them.”

And Thomas laughed some more until finally the dark had enveloped them. “You know, when I first arrived here I figured from the remote location of your farm, that you didn’t want anything to do with civilisation, let alone nobility. I hadn’t presumed, though, you’d hold such an intense hatred for us lords and upper class citizens.” After a few seconds, he added, “Although I can’t blame you. To be frank, I often have similar thoughts.”

Without thinking, James said, “Well, you’re not so bad.” It came out as easily as a simple observation, but revealed only the tip of the iceberg of what James felt when he looked at Thomas right now.

Thomas’ eyes pierced him in a pensive gaze. “You’ve decided that already, have you?”

James shrugged, “I’ll have you know I’m known to be quite good at assessing the nature of strangers. Are you insulting me, my Lord?”

And there was Thomas’ laugh again, which settled a warm tingling feeling in his chest.

“Not at all, James. Not at all.”

James smiled back at him and revelled in the moment, and he thought, whatever it was Thomas was bringing into his life, it was something that against his prediction fit neatly into his life. Something he’d never known he’d missed. Something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at @scienceofdeducjohn on tumblr!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas go for a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no set uploading schedule but I'm going back to uni this monday so I'm going to try to finish uploading everything before then. :)  
> Apologies for all the short chapters, but I hope you like this one!

The following morning brought the sun amid a blue sky and only a gentle breeze of wind. James had stayed out for hours after Thomas had gone to bed, and had thought about Thomas and his past and this entire ridiculous situation. He’d slept restlessly, his mind conjuring up all kinds of nightmares, and had taken a long walk immediately after waking up. He’d managed to push down most of his worries, but still felt too uneasy for his liking, so he’d decided to begin his daily chores to keep himself busy. He was just preparing a basket of peaches when Thomas came downstairs.

“There’s bread and peach jam on the table, if you want breakfast.” He said, covering the basket with a towel to keep them out of the sun later. He wondered how obvious his lack of sleep was to Thomas. He wondered why he had allowed him in his home. He wondered a lot of things at once, as per usual.

But Thomas paused, peering at him questioningly.

“I’m bringing these to my neighbour half a mile from here. He’ll give me some milk in return.” He explained.

Thomas nodded, taking a bite of his slice of bread. “He has cows?”

“He sells milk in his shop, so he has a dozen or so. And some horses.” On an impulse, he added, “Maybe we could borrow two of them for the afternoon and take a ride. I could show you around the area.” James wondered idly if he was pushing too much for contact with his visitor, if it was obvious he liked him, why he suddenly felt a rush of anxiety clouding his mind. He looked down at his feet, steadying himself by letting his body fall back against the wall so he was leaning against it.

“I’m always in for a ride.” When James looked up, he saw Thomas’ eyes were lit up. He felt his anxiety slowly slipping away at the sight, and pushed himself off the wall. After lifting up the basket on to the table, he saw down opposite Thomas.

“How do you like the jam?”

“Delicious,” Thomas said, around a mouthful, and James smiled.

 

They started the walk after breakfast, the sun beating down on them. Thomas looked around, taking in the scenery, and James followed his gaze. Wide fields stretched and dipped and curved far beyond their view, dotted with only few patches of trees and bushes. The weather allowed them to look far across the hill, and the early hour meant they spotted the occasional rabbit. It was as beautiful as ever, but James’ eyes were on his companion more than they were on the view.

“It’s beautiful.” Thomas said, when they were about halfway, a hand shielding his eyes from the blinding sun.

James met his eyes. “Yes. It is.”

It took less than ten minutes to reach the farm. It was an old building, dating back to the 14th century, and flowers of all colours had been planted around it. A sign hung from the wall, indicating that the shop was just around the corner. The owner walked in as James set down the basket on the counter.

“Ah, Billy.”

Billy gave him a smile, shook his hand first, then Thomas’. “James! I see you’ve brought a friend?”

“Billy, my guest Thomas Hamilton. Thomas, Billy.”

“My pleasure,” said Thomas.

Billy nodded curtly at him, then eyed the basket James had brought. “I see you’ve brought me some of those heavenly peaches of yours. Let me just get some milk for you. Be right back.” And he strode out again, leaving them behind in the shop.

James looked at Thomas who’d begun browsing the shelves, occasionally picking up items and inspecting them. “Look at this!” He giggled, donning a ridiculous straw hat, “Does it suit me?” Thomas struck a pose, straightening his back and putting his hands on his hips while attempting and failing miserably to look very serious.

James laughed, moving towards him. “Why, I think you look absolutely lovely in it, my Lord.” He snatched the hat from Thomas’ head and put it on his own, grinning widely at Thomas’ incredulous eyes. “No wait, I think it suits me better.” He said, just as Billy coughed behind them.

“Half a  gallon of milk.” James spun around, and saw Billy smirking at him with two bottles in his hands. “Will you also be taking the hat?”

“Yes!” Thomas answered, somewhat more enthusiastically than a straw hat merited in James’ opinion, at the exact same time James said,

“No.”

James turned his head to look at Thomas, quirked an eyebrow in surprise, and put back the hat. “Really?”

Thomas just laughed at him, shaking his head. James thought about how he had no right looking so beautiful when he was just laughing, found his gaze falling to his smiling lips, realized he would like to… But no, that was ridiculous. He wasn’t like that.

“James?” A tap on his shoulder mercifully snapped him out of spiralling thoughts, and he very much hoped the heat that he felt spread on his cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Billy handed him the bottles with a wink (what was that supposed to mean?).

After thanking him and confirming they could take two of his horses (“Of course, God knows they could use the exercise. I’ll be out on the farm, but you can drop by whenever and take them. As long as you bring them back whole the same day!”), they started on the short walk back.

 

After having lunch, James and Thomas returned for their ride. James led the way to the stables, saddled the Friesian mare he usually rode and helped Thomas saddle an always good-natured Friesian cross-breed. “You’ve never ridden before?” Asked James as he bridled the gelding.

Thomas stood rather helplessly at his side, watching his actions intently. “Only a few times. I’ve never had to saddle the horses myself.”

“It’s easy enough if you can manage to keep yourself seated in the saddle. Can you pass me it?”

After Thomas picked up the saddle from where James had deposited it on a stand, James had to stifle a laugh at his awkward movements as he tried to walk back with the stirrups falling against his legs with every step he took.

“Ow! Don’t you laugh at me.” He frowned at James, and then at the saddle, carefully taking another step before pausing again.

“I’m not laughing at you,” James laughed at him.

Thomas pulled a face but then met his eyes, chuckled. “James! Stop laughing at me and come help me.” The chuckle was evolving into a grin, and James finally decided to stop taunting him. He swung the reins over the horse’s neck and took the few steps to reach Thomas, until he was close enough to bend down a little and slip his arms under the heavy thing.

“Let me just-” Their hands brushed against each other, and James became acutely aware of how close they were standing; he could feel Thomas’ breath on his forehead.

“Do you have it?” Thomas asked, voice soft and still very much inside his personal space, where he hadn’t allowed anyone in years.

James cleared his throat, mentally shaking himself. He took a step backwards, turned on his heels, and went to lay it smoothly on the gelding’s back. “There.”

 

The hours passed as quickly as they ever did on horseback. They galloped through the endless moorland, momentarily forgetting everything. James stole glances at Thomas every so often to make sure he was still seated comfortably even as they trotted up and down the rough hillsides. But there was no reason to worry; he seemed to ride quite well, sitting relaxed and enjoying the ride.

“This must be the best ride I’ve ever had.” Thomas declared as he sat down next to James. They’d stopped to rest on the top of a hill and under the shade of a patch of trees. His cheeks were flushed from the heat and excitement. “It’s refreshing to be out of the city.”

James sat back, his hands behind him on the ground. “It’s lovely. I lived in the city for a long time, too. But nothing can beat this, not even London.”

“You used to live in London?”

“I grew up there, went to work there, my whole life was London. Well, London and eventually, the sea.” And there it was again, his tongue working faster than his brain. The words seemed to roll off his tongue without second thought; he talked to Thomas like he would to an old friend that he had trusted for years. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, to stop himself. This wasn’t like him, he was spilling too much information to someone he barely even knew. Faintly he registered the metallic taste of blood. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thomas looking at him. “I was a lieutenant. In the Navy.” He clarified.

This seemed to satisfy Thomas, as he nodded and looked away; a silent acknowledgement of his wish not to discuss his personal life any further. The sun was creeping lower and lower as they sat in silence, and James was already dreading having to leave and thinking about dinner when Thomas interrupted his thoughts.

“You’re a very private person.” It was a statement, not a question, and sounded interested rather than indignant as James would have thought more suitable. He looked over his shoulder. Thomas had repositioned himself and was now lying in the grass, hands behind his head. His eyes were closed, which made him look almost vulnerable.

“You’re saying you aren’t?” James retorted smugly, shifting until he was on his side leaning on his right elbow to get a better look at Thomas. His shirt had fallen open at the top to reveal a patch of pale skin.

Thomas cracked open one eye to glance at him, then closed it again. “I’m saying we have that in common.” He smiled at that, apparently content with himself, but leaving James wondering what on earth he’d meant. As if reading his mind, he explained, “I’m saying I think it’s a virtue. I like that about you.”

“Ah,” He shifted, wondering what he was expected to say in response to that and eventually settled on, “Thank you. I don’t think everyone would share that belief.”

“Why, do you mean the arrogant egotistical fucking idiots back in London?”  Thomas asked innocently and completely straight-faced.

James burst out laughing, and was soon accompanied by Thomas’ low chuckles. He rolled on his back and put his hands on his belly as his laughter faded into a grin. Turning his head, he saw a set of azure eyes focused on him, had to simultaneously fight back the urge to thank him for making him laugh in a way he hadn’t in months, and the urge to let his eyes drop to his mouth. _Let’s stay here forever_ , James thought _._

“I think we better head back,” Thomas said. “Aren’t you getting hungry?”

 _I don’t care._ But James looked up at the sky, saw the sun had begun its descent long ago. He sighed. “You’re right.”


	4. IV

Dinner that night was fresh chicken James bought from Billy on the way home, and some vegetables he had recently harvested from the little vegetable garden in front of his farm. They ate mostly in silence, and Thomas went upstairs to his room after helping to clean up. James sat down, planning to read, but found his mind wandering. After half an hour he gave up, deciding to take a walk instead.

As he strolled down the hill, he wondered about the maintenance of his farm and the money he would need. He’d have to undertake action soon, if he wanted to keep it. The money from Lord Hamilton had helped him for now, but the future was still uncertain. Maybe he could start selling his peaches at the market in London, or in one of the small villages nearby. As he weighed the advantages against the disadvantages, he noticed his legs had automatically carried him to the pub he frequented. The light from inside illuminated the dusty path, and warmth alongside chatter radiated from the door. James shrugged to himself, thinking he could use a drink. It wasn’t until he stood inside that he remembered his very empty pockets and muttered curses under his breath.

“James!” Someone slapped him on his shoulder, and he turned around to see John Silver beaming up at him. “It’s been a while, where’ve you been?” His speech was slightly slurred, and he held on tightly to James’ upper arms with both hands.

James quirked up an eyebrow. “It’s been four days, John.”

“Has it?” John seemed thrown by that information, and his smile fell from his face for a moment. “We’re all here, join us!” He pointed at their usual table by the window, and saw Jack waving at him while Anne, Max and Eleanor were deeply engaged in conversation. James smiled inadvertently at the sight of his friends. They were an unlikely combination, all felt like misfits in their daily life but had found each other in this godforsaken pub in the middle of nowhere. All of them looked up when he joined them. John went to get him something to drink while the rest greeted him. They drank and laughed and talked about nothing in particular, and James found himself forgetting about the farm and the Lord currently residing in it. That was, until John brought it up, apparently too drunk to remember he’d explicitly stated that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Oh! James how’s it going with-” He squeezed his eyes shut trying to remember the name that was written in the letter James had told him about days ago. “That Lord person in your, in your farm?”

Eleanor barked out a “What!”, just as Max gasped in surprise.

“No…” James started, really not having the energy for this kind of conversation, “I’m really not in the mood for-”

But Eleanor interrupted him, bumping her shoulder against his. “No! You’re telling me you have a Lord in your house? You? You despise those rich bastards more than any of us? How, why, who?”

So James sighed and told them. How Thomas had been brought by his father, how he had helped him on his farm, everything up to today’s spontaneous ride.

“…And now he’s back home and I’m here, and that’s it. Satisfied?” He took a big gulp of gin.

Eleanor grinned deviously while exchanging looks with Max like they’d just discovered a hilarious secret of his. Max then nodded at him and stated casually, “You’re in love with him.”

James could admit he may have shouted a little too hard (“I am not!”) when he answered, but really, how could they just assume something like that? It wasn’t like they had ever heard him talk about someone he had loved, or even known him that long.

“Yes, you are.” Max retorted calmly, sipping her drink, just as Anne – who hadn’t yet spoken a word the entire evening – said with a smirk, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

 “I…” James helplessly looked round the table for support, but just found Eleanor grinning knowingly and Anne giving him a look. John was staring at him open-mouthed, clinging on to an empty glass. Where were they coming up with this?

“James?” Jack said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Word of advice. You better just accept the fact that you’re in love with the fellow. There’s no point in arguing with these two.” And he gestured to Eleanor and Max.

But before he could say anything, John started tugging at his sleeve, slurring, “James, James.”

“How many beers have you had?” James asked, hoping to change the subject and being utterly ignored.

“I’m just so glad you found someone, you know?” John continued, ignoring his violent head-shaking and tired sigh, “I just wish I could meet the guy because I want to make sure he’s right for you, okay? Can we do that? Please, James, you deserve-”

“Okay! That’s enough.” He stood up, shaking John off of him. “I’m going home.” He swayed a little from the alcohol still in his blood, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. “And no, you _can’t_ meet Thomas because I don’t have some sort of _pathetic_ crush on him. Understood?”

But Anne grabbed his arm from across the table as he tried to walk away. He swiftly placed one hand on the table to lean on before he could fall, as Anne pulled him close across the table. “It’s okay, James. God knows I struggled against it first, when I met Max. But all you’ve gotta do is turn off your mind telling you all sorts of bad things about it. You’ll be happier, I swear.”

He was breathing hard under her sharp stare fixing him in place, mind spinning as he allowed himself to consider the possibility. All those thoughts he’d had, he’d just chalked it up to years of denial and maybe a repressed libido. And was he imagining those feelings he’d thought he’d had or were they real? He shook his head slowly as he tried to clear his mind of a gin-induced haze. Anne let go of his arm, and he placed it beneath him, steadying himself. “Please don’t do this to yourself.” She added.

“James?” Eleanor asked gently after a moment, but he was staring beyond her into nothing, suddenly not having the energy to focus his eyes on her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” It came out rougher than he’d intended.

Suddenly a soft fabric was dabbing at his cheeks, and he finally looked at her. She was holding a serviette and looked concerned. “You’re crying.”

James straightened and slowly raised one hand to his face. It came back wet. He stared at it momentarily in confusion before taking the serviette Eleanor was holding out to him. He felt like he’d finally lost his grip on reality and was falling down a hole of uncertainty. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, but reluctantly dismissed that notion: Anne’s grip had hurt him.

Jack managed to pierce his thoughts with a question, “How are you feeling?” Simple enough, but not at all: he felt nothing. The anger had subsided as quickly as it had come, and had been replaced by an uncomfortable numbness. He sat down.

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly.

“Ohhhh.” John drawled, brow pulled together in exaggerated sympathy. “We’re here for you, okay?”

James nodded, groaned, rubbed his face. “What am I going to do?”

And as always, there was Eleanor with her advice to toughen up and get over it. “You’re going to not feel sorry for yourself.”

He stared at her as she continued, “It’s hard, but I know you. You’ve fought and won much harder battles than this. So I suggest you’re going to get over yourself and see if you can find out what he thinks about you.” She smirked. “And we’re going to help you.”

What was that supposed to mean? “Thank you.” James said. And that was that. He was in love with Lord Hamilton. After a minute of silence and regrouping, the conversation continued on without him while he turned the novel idea over in his mind and tried to regard it at every possible angle. It made sense, he thought. He hated that thought. He hated how it suddenly all clicked. How could he not have noticed? How had he mused for minutes at a time about the beauty of Thomas without entertaining the idea of being in love? After half an hour of torturing himself he decided to go home and sleep on it. As he left the pub, his friends exchanged some heavy glances before waving him goodbye. They were planning something, he was sure of it, but he didn’t have the energy to analyse their intentions. He opened the door to step into a cold drizzle after waving back mindlessly. He was looking forward to getting into bed.

 

When he came home Thomas was sitting in the living room reading. He looked up as James shut the door behind him. It was strange seeing the man he’d what felt like only moments ago discussed with his friends as some sort of secret. Just sitting there in the flesh, breathing, moving, closing a book, standing up, smiling at him. He waited for Thomas to say something, unmoving. His eyes flashed to a window and back. It seemed darker now that he was inside. It must have been midnight. Thomas was still looking at him. James was still thinking how strange he felt.

“James,” The silence was broken at last, as Thomas took a few steps toward him and stopped, regarding him for a moment. “Are you okay?”

James grit his teeth, painfully aware of his misguided anger flaring up. This was some sort of ritual of his: he didn’t want to acknowledge something, repressed it as hard and long as he could, and when that something had gotten too big to ignore it would blow up in his face in the form of anger. He knew logically that this had nothing to do with Thomas, that the fault was entirely his own. But it was hard to shake this sudden feeling. The best thing to do was leave and go to sleep, give himself time to process all this new information.

So he swallowed, mumbled “I’m fine”, and brushed past him to go upstairs.

“You can talk to me.”

And James couldn’t hold it in anymore, he just couldn’t. He knew he was wrong to blame Thomas, but his emotions seemed to take over. He spun around. “Oh I can talk to you can I?”

Thomas looked perplexed at his accusatory tone, but to his credit stood his ground as James continued, unable to stop the waterfall from spilling out.

“You come in my house and I give you food and a bed, and you interrogate me about my past, cling to me when I’m trying to just live my life-” Nothing he was saying was true and his eyes were stinging with the immorality of it.

“You act like it was my idea to come here!” Thomas put one foot before the other, taking careful steps toward him until they were less than a meter apart. James was breathing hard, blinking fast. He ran a trembling hand through his hair even as Thomas continued, spitting his words loud and clear, “Do you think I wanted to be ripped away from my life in London, where I was actually making a difference? Do you think-”

 “Well, I don’t want you here either!”

“I didn’t have a choice!” He shouted,  “I had a life, I had a job, and I was so close to accomplishing good things. Until my _father_ put me here when he found out,” A heartbeat, “something arbitrary and decided I suddenly wasn’t entitled to a life worth living. And there isn’t anything I can think of to do about it. And believe me,” He laughed a short mirthless laugh, “coming from me, that means something.”

And James couldn’t stand the sight of him. He looked down at his feet. Here was a Lord with visions far beyond his time, punished by his father and cast out to a useless retired lieutenant. Here was a man with great potential, fierce and unapologetic and determined to do good but confined to an environment where it was ensured he couldn’t do _anything_. And here he was shouting at him. James wanted to punch himself. He saw Thomas’ feet walking away from him. Footsteps on the creaking wooden floor, the stairs, a door being slammed, then silence. It took him another minute to move and finally went to bed.

James slept restlessly that night, dreaming a strange dream about an crushing need to dig a hole in the earth, right outside his farm between the trees. It was pitch dark, and by the time that he’d dug himself a hole as deep as a well, Thomas came running to the edge of it. But James ignored the extended arm above him; he had to keep digging, digging, digging even if he knew it would be his end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you liked this one! :)


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some unexpected guests visit James and Thomas at the worst possible time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took this long to update - I'm afraid my confidence and homework interfered with my schedule.

James awoke early and sighed in relief at having left the nightmare, before remembering the previous night; an overwhelming guilt for the previous night took him by surprise. After a short and fruitless attempt of going back to sleep full of tossing and turning, he gave in and got out of bed. The clock measured a quarter past seven, and opening the curtains in his room, sunlight spilled in in cruel contrast to his mood. He took a bath and got dressed in a clean white linen shirt and matching breeches, all the while formulating an apology. As he passed Thomas’ room on the way downstairs, he paused and listened for any sound, but heard nothing. He must still be sleeping; relief washed over him at the realization that he would not have to confront him just yet.  

It was past noon when James finally brought himself to knock on Thomas’ door. He still hadn’t come downstairs, which resulted in the whole apologising thing making him increasingly more uncomfortable. After a minute of knocking and waiting for a reply, he opened the door to look inside a very empty room. James’ stomach fell as the anxious buzzing in his mind doubled. Had Thomas left because of his words yesterday? Had he decided that anywhere would be better than here and walked away? But no, he realized, as he went further into the bedroom, all of his stuff was still here; a copy of La Galatea lay open on his unmade bed, a half-written letter abandoned on the desk. _My Dear Miranda_ it read, _I trust all is well with you in London, and hope to be able to visit you soon with or without the consent of my father. I am writing to you from the farm my father has sent me to, a few miles from London. The owner, whom today was kind enough to show me the spectacular landscape surrounding his old house on horseback, is one Mr. McGraw_. James swallowed hard. He must have written this before their falling-out, speaking so surprisingly warmly about him it almost hurt in the light of yesterday night. _I feel quite at home here, and it is easy to forget that Mr. McGraw is not an old friend of mine, as our conversations are often pleasant and always interesting_. He let out a surprised breath, unable to stop a stupidly big grin from spreading his lips. The letter stopped abruptly there, and he put it back down, hoping Thomas wouldn’t notice it had been moved. Looking out the window, his mind conjured up the image of him sitting here at his desk, writing these kind words. Maybe he’d been smiling while drafting the letter, thinking of how much they’d laughed already. Maybe- but the next thought was already forgotten as James noticed Thomas strolling into the view the window gave him on the garden. He hurried downstairs and outside, mentally practicing what he was going to say, and found him standing between the peach trees. He was holding the same journal he’d seen him write in before.

“Thomas,” he greeted Thomas, approaching him.

“James.” Thomas nodded at him.

“I wanted to talk to you.” James started, taking a brief moment to choose his words with care, “I said some things about you yesterday, stupid things that I never should have said. I’m sorry for that.” He took a deep breath, saw something shift in Thomas’ eyes. “It was unfair of me to accuse you of those things.”

“Yes.” Thomas agreed a short jerk of his head. “It was.”

“I was angry about something else and took it out on you. I hope you can forgive me for that.” He fidgeted with his hands, uncertain what Thomas’ expression meant.

But his eyes closed for a moment at his last words, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward. “Yes.”

James nodded and let out a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Where did you go?” Then, remembering he had not seen Thomas the entire morning,  “Have you eaten yet? I could make you a sandwich?”

Thomas accepted, and when James came back, he was sitting against a tree with his eyes closed. When he sat down next to him, Thomas opened his eyes and took the proffered sandwich from his hand. Their fingers brushed; James shivered and looked away.

“I went for a walk. I woke up at six and couldn’t fall back asleep. It isn’t anything personal, but I’m afraid I’ve been feeling rather useless, restless, the past few days.”

“I can only imagine.” James didn’t want to press him to tell him things he didn’t want to share, but his curiosity began to flare up again as he remembered he still didn’t know the reason his father had all but exiled him here. At first he’d thought maybe it was because of his plan to pardon pirates, but their conversation yesterday suggested there was something more to it. “You’re probably used to working so hard, it’s strange to suddenly have nothing to do all day.” He recalled his own retirement, that feeling of desolation and worthlessness as he’d thrown himself into after his career.

Thomas let out a mirthless chuckle. “Sometimes I get an overwhelming urge to go back to my father and tell him I’ll do whatever I please. I don’t want him protecting the world from me.” He drew in a sharp breath. “I can’t- I must-” A shuddering exhalation before he continued, “I must have my work. I can’t sit around and do nothing when they’re there doing the exact opposite of what is good and righteous.” Thomas was staring straight ahead, cheeks red in something that could be anger or sorrow. James wanted to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. Simultaneously, he wanted to inflict serious pain on Lord Alfred Hamilton for holding something so serious over his head and threatening him with it, and thereby taking away his life.

“But I’m trapped.” Thomas tightened his hands into fists, “I’ve been thinking for days and I have yet to find a reasonable solution. I don’t know where to go from here. My hands are tied.”

James allowed a second of silence to fall, to make sure he was finished. “If there’s anything I can do…”

Thomas turned his head then, locking eyes with him and swiftly taking his breath away. “Thank you, James. However, I don’t think there is.” And he looked so lost and James felt so utterly powerless, he acted on an impulse and put a hand over Thomas’, slowly, giving Thomas time to deny him. But he simply eyed his fingers for a second and allowed it to happen, turning his hand so they fit neatly together. It felt warm and comforting, and James’ chest seemed to constrict at the sheer intimacy of it. Thomas gave him a small smile as he broke the silence. “In times like these, it would do well to remember Marcus Aurelius’ thoughts on the problems we all face on the unpredictable road that is life.”

“And what might that be?”

The small smile grew slightly bigger and revealed his teeth. _I was hoping you’d ask me that_ , it said. ““How unlucky I am that this should happen to me. But not at all.”” He said, drawing out the vowels and pausing just a few seconds between sentences as if reciting a poem, ““Perhaps, say how lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened, and I am not afraid of what is about to happen. For the same blow might have stricken anyone, but not many would have absorbed it without capitulation and complaint.””

When he ended, James found his body had gravitated toward him off its own accord during the little speech. They were so close, he imagined if he tilted his head up and leant in, he could kiss him. He noticed Thomas’ eyes were darting up and down over his face, the Roman emperor no longer on his mind. James eyed his lips, just for a moment, then Thomas’ eyes, which glistened in understanding. His heart jumped; he had never allowed himself to consider the possibility that Thomas was attracted to him, might even like to kiss him. And yet, Thomas’ hand tightened around his own as Thomas leaned forward ever so slightly-

“James, are you in the garden?” And the moment was gone. James pulled back his hand as if stung, stumbled to his feet in a hurry. He cleared his throat, scratched his neck, turned on his heels. There stood Eleanor, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Hurrying the twenty meters or so to her, he hoped to God Thomas wouldn’t want to talk about what had just happened. _Almost_ happened. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder for fear of seeing Thomas’ face set in sorrow or anger for abandoning him so suddenly.

“Eleanor, why are you here?”

Eleanor frowned at him, maybe at his gruff voice, maybe at his scowl. “We’re here to see the famed Lord Thomas Hamilton, of course.”

“We?” James sighed. He really did not have the energy for this after the night and morning he’d had.

Eleanor flashed him a smile, ignoring his disgruntlement, and pointed to John who was just limping around the corner. “We’re just curious if this Lord lives up to the hype. Is that him?” James followed her gaze as she nodded at something behind him. Thomas was making his way over. The sun behind him meant he couldn’t make out his expression. Should James have let it happen? Would Thomas blame him, or worse, misinterpret his hasty retreat?

“James?” Eleanor smirked at him, arching up one eyebrow.

 _What was the question? Oh,_ “Yes, that’s him. That’s Thomas.”

“ _Thomas_?” John asked, standing next to Eleanor.

James fixed him with an exasperated look. Sometimes he wondered if his friends liked to pretend not understanding everything he said just to rile him up. “He insists on the informal.”

John came to stand next to Eleanor. “He’s a Lord.” He huffed a laugh in disbelief.

“Yes he’s a Lord,” James replied, pinching his nose in impatience, “and we’re _friends_. Which means we treat each other as such.”

They stared at him. James waited. “Who are friends?” Came a voice from behind him. _Damn it_ , he’d forgot Thomas was even here and could have heard everything he’d said. He wondered tensely how long he’d stood there.

“I… Well, that is.” James said sheepishly, feeling a blush creep on his cheeks. Thomas now stood at his side, studying him with his eyebrows pulled up innocently.

Luckily though, his friends seemed to feel some remorse for him; Eleanor closed her mouth which had opened slightly in amusement. “Can we get something to eat?”

 

“Why,” John said as soon as they sat down at the kitchen table, James fetching the something to eat, “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is John Silver, and this is Eleanor Guthrie. We’re friends of James’.”

“Thomas Hamilton.”

James turned around with some plates in one hand and bread and jam in the other, and saw them shake hands. “My Lord.”

Thomas failed to hide a grimace at that, but didn’t say anything about it. John nonchalantly cast James his told-you-so look over his shoulder, at which he scowled. What exactly was he trying to prove? He set down the bread, jam and plates, then went to retrieve some glasses and a jug of water.

Eleanor shook Thomas’ hand, then exchanged a look with John. “So,” She began, folding her hands as if opening a business meeting while redirecting her attention to Thomas, “James tells us you’ve only just arrived here. How are you enjoying your stay?”

James put the glasses and water in front of them, still annoyed with his friends. Although, he thought, at least the focus was off him for now. He sat down next to Thomas, fidgeting with a slice of bread and deliberately avoiding the gazes of his guests.

“I quite enjoy it here, thank you. I actually love the surroundings, it’s rather scenic. James showed me the surroundings yesterday. It’s beautiful.”

And was James making it up or did Thomas sound like he was talking through a smile? He eyed him, and did indeed see his lips pulled up to reveal a white flash of teeth. And he was looking at him. James wondered what he had done to deserve this man looking at him like _that_ , radiant as the sun. Before thinking better of it, he answered him with a wide grin, quickly averting his eyes to his plate. He felt so light all of the sudden, as if he could float away at any moment, and wondered how a man could do that to him. Invade his home and smile at him as if he were something incredible, something made of pure gold.

“I trust our friend James has been treating you well?” John was talking to Thomas but glancing at Eleanor, and the both of them were looking very pleased with themselves. James cringed at the question. It sounded like they were interviewing the poor man.

“Yes, of course.” Thomas looked a bit thrown by the question, replying as if the question was redundant and the answer obvious. “He’s been very hospitable and generous, allowing me to stay here and showing me around.”

John nodded along with him, scratching his beard. “We’re really glad to hear that, seeing as James can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

James sat back indignantly. “ _I_ can be a pain in the ass? You’re the one annoying me with a surprise visit.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s for your own good.”

James could only scoff at that wicked grin. “How?”

But John just shrugged and wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously at him before looking at Thomas again. “I’m deeply sorry if we are inconveniencing you, my Lord. You see, we simply wanted to check in on our friend and his guest he told us so much about.”

Thomas was silent for a moment, and James took that time to stare angrily at John. “He told you about me?” Thomas asked, a little incredulous. And James didn’t dare look at him.

“Yeah, of course. Yesterday night, he told us all about his new guest. I must admit I may have been a little drunk at the time-”

Eleanor barked out a laugh at that, but John ignored her.

“-but, I still remember how shocked I was to hear that there was a Lord that he tolerates. _Likes_ , even. And trust me, that means a lot coming from James. He’s always hated the nobility. Not to mention, he’s the most reclusive man we know.”

“Well-” James interjected, but was cut off by Eleanor.

“You are, James.”

Thomas concluded, “So that’s where you ran off to.” And said nothing else. Because really, what else was there to say?

“So it’s no wonder we got curious as to who you are, is it?” John continued, “Tell us about yourself.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “Well,” He began, taking a second to think about what information he could and could not disclose. “My name is Thomas Hamilton. I’m a Lord, yes, but I’m trying to only do good despite what the reputation of my family name might suggest. I’m here on temporary leave from my work.” He thought for a moment.  “On some sort of holiday you might say.”

“Well, I do hope James is helping you relax on your holiday.” Eleanor quipped.

James almost choked on his water, feeling that damned blush return at the statement. Furiously trying to think of something to say, he ended up opening his mouth without sound coming out. Luckily, Thomas just laughed and didn’t react otherwise to Eleanor. Whether it was because he hadn’t caught on to the innuendo – which James doubted taking his intelligence in mind – or just didn’t care about it, James was relieved that they weren’t going to have _that_ kind of conversation.

He was able to redirect the talk to more casual topics after that narrowly avoided disaster, and he quickly forgot about their prying and meddling. After an hour of small talk John and Eleanor had finally had enough and left. As soon as they were out the door, James remembered what had happened before their interruption, and he froze. What if Thomas brought it up? What if he wanted to talk about it? If there was one thing he liked to avoid, it was talking about his feelings. James closed the door and went to clean up the kitchen table, mind buzzing with thoughts and questions. Thomas went to help him, silently.

“Your friends are nice.” Thomas said after they finished. He was leaning against the kitchen table and the sunlight coloured his hair gold and silver and James tried hard not to stare.

“They’re always pestering me.”

Thomas smiled. “You love them.” He said it with a certainty that scared him. How did this man see straight through him? He had no right to do that after the short time he’d been here.

 “I know. God help me.”


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after.

“Who’s Miranda?”

They were having dinner – leftovers from the other day – when James suddenly remembered he’d never asked after their first real conversation. He’d assumed the answer but hated being unsure of things, so the question was out before he could think better of it and caught Thomas mid chew. Something shifted in his expression, something he couldn’t pinpoint but made him look more guarded. He swallowed.

“Miranda is my wife.”

“She’s back in London?” James pricked at his chicken, telling himself there was no problem with Thomas having a wife. It had nothing to do with him and Thomas, with their friendship.

Thomas nodded. “She’s my closest friend. She’s the one person who sometimes seems to know me better than myself.”

“That’s good,” James said, studying the piece of meat on his fork. _This means nothing to me_ , he told himself, _it’s good that he has a wife who makes him happy. In the end is that not what everyone wants? Should I not be happy for him?_ _And yet_ … He cleared his throat. “Everyone needs someone like that in their life.” And that was the end of it.

 

They were sitting out back on the porch reading. The sun had set some time ago, and the only light source were four candles on a small table between both their chairs. James was just thinking he should head for bed when Thomas put down _Don Quixote_. “About what you said earlier.” He started, hesitating. James looked up. Thomas’ eyes were trained on the book in his lap. “You were right. _It is not good that man should be alone_ _._ Everyone needs a partner. But I think you misunderstood me. Miranda is my wife, yes, but we are no more than close friends.”

And why was James’ heart beating in his throat? He closed his own novel with almost shaking hands, his mind racing. Did Thomas mean, possibly, he was like him? That he had a wife only to keep up appearances? He did not dare put that thought into words, but with each word Thomas spoke, the idea seemed to settle increasingly permanently in his mind.

“My father disapproves of her… manners. Of the rumours about her affairs. But she doesn’t mind, even if they are true. To be frank, I don’t mind either. All that matters is our friendship. And because of that, I want her to be happy.” When Thomas ventured a glance at James, the line of his lips and eyebrows revealed a content man. He was being honest.

“And what about you?” James rushed out the words under his breath _, andwhataboutyou_.

Thomas averted his gaze with a crooked smile that did not reach his eyes; not by far. He took a while to formulate his answer. “I fear I don’t long for the tradition of such romantic entanglements with women.”

James could hear his blood buzzing in his ears, felt his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage, as he asked. “What is it then, that you long for?” He couldn’t keep his eyes off Thomas, even when his voice came out rough and quiet.

Thomas got out his chair. He took an uncertain step to James. And another. Looked at him for maybe minutes, maybe an hour, maybe seconds, dark blue eyes reflecting the candle light. James sat upright unconsciously as Thomas bent down slightly to take his hand. Long warm fingers tangled in his own calloused ones, bent around them and tugged at them until James slowly stood up before him. Everything Thomas did, he did slowly, questioning. _Is this alright? Will you allow me to do this?_ And James moved toward him in an unspoken answer: _yes, yes, yes_ , until they were inches apart and their palms were pressed together and James could feel Thomas’ breath on his cheeks and the world around them fell away into darkness. Thomas’ other hand came up to cup James’ cheek, and he leant into it with ease, as if this was something they had always done since the beginning of time. Stand here and touch each other and forget the world. James leaned forward ever so slightly, heartbeat erratic now, but Thomas bent his head down until their faces were so close James couldn’t focus his eyes on him anymore. So he closed them. Let Thomas brush his lips against his, gently.

“This,” Thomas breathed the answer against his mouth before sliding his parched lips over James’ once more. “This, you.”

James exhaled a shudder through his nose, heart skipping a beat at his words. He moved the hand that wasn’t currently clasped in Thomas’ to his waist, steadying himself. As Thomas pulled back, he opened his eyes to see him still there, half-lidded eyes staring right back at him in thinly veiled adoration. Letting out an indignant huff at the loss, James pulled at Thomas’ waist and pressed his mouth against those lips again. Thomas made a surprised sound and untangled their hands to cup his face in both hands. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, and James gladly let him. The feeling of two soft hands on him, chest against chest and lips against lips until one of them pulled away – James couldn’t remember who. Letting his hands travel up Thomas’ body to his neck, he pulled softly until he could rest his forehead against his. He let out a chuckle in disbelief at what had just happened. Thomas had grabbed his shoulders and was doing nothing but calmly breathing against him.

“Me too,” James eventually said, remembering Thomas’ words what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Thomas murmured, “What?”

James leant back and opened his eyes, watched those eyes flutter open. “I just realized. This is what I’ve been longing for.”

And Thomas kissed him again, hard, and James kissed back.

It wasn’t until they were getting too tired to keep their eyes open that they decided to go to bed. James found his blissfully blank mind suddenly being plagued with questions again. Were they going to the same bed? Were there expectations? Thomas took his hand and didn’t let go, pulled him toward the stairs. It was decided, then. James let himself be led them to his bedroom, which had the only king-sized bed of the house. He decided to be the brave one for once, and tugged at his hand until Thomas fell into the bed next to him. He didn’t have the energy to get out and remove his clothes or even shut the door. All he wanted to do was lie here with Thomas and touch him and be touched. He looked into the sleepy grin on Thomas’ face, didn’t fight the impulse to caress it with his hand. His eyes closed at the touch, and James’ followed suit. The last thing he felt before drifting into sleep was the comforting firm pressure of Thomas’ hand on his waist, the matrass dipping slightly as Thomas moved closer to him, a leg sliding between his own. And then he was gone.

James dreamed that he was in the well again. But he was standing motionlessly with the shovel in his hand, wondering suddenly what he was doing here, why he had done this to himself when the solution was so simple. He looked up; sure enough Thomas was still there, shining a bright light; illuminating the darkness. The well must have been metres upon metres deep, but Thomas reached in easily with one hand, all the way to James’ own outstretched arm. James let himself be pulled up out of the pit, feeling as peaceful as could be. When he was standing on the familiar grass of his garden, he turned to Thomas. “Thank you,” He said.

“You’re welcome,” The fact that his lips weren’t moving didn’t disconcert him; not even the pressure on his chest alarmed him. He just had to open his eyes.

James awoke to Thomas rolled half on top of him; his arms were folded on James’ chest and supported his head. His hair was golden in the morning sunlight and was mussed in a way that made James’ heart twist and flutter.

“Although I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for,” He said, voice low and full of sleep.

James smiled sleepily at him. “I was just dreaming about you.”

Thomas didn’t reply, instead crawled up his chest until they were face to face. “Good morning,” And he placed a soft kiss on James’ lips, who hummed in appreciation.

“Morning, Thomas,” And James thought, _I could get used to this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a week or two longer than expected to get it up, sorry for that. Hope you still enjoy and as always, let me know if you like it! :)


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